I would like...

I would like to write you a message, but I don't know what to say, except that writing to you would mean that I have accepted that you have died.

Don't worry. I...

Don’t worry. I think your son will remember you very well. He has already bought flowers for you. I don’t know what it will be like for him growing up without you as his mother, but I see you in him, the same smile, the same pensiveness, the same quiet demeanor.

I am going...

I am going to say some things to you I have never said to you when you were alive. There are so many things to say it is hard to know where to begin. So I guess I will start with the biggest for me. I am gay. I never told you this because we had to live in that perfect house and we had to be your perfect children. Being gay would be less then acceptable to you. I remember when you talked about gay people you thought they were sick. This is how I felt – it made me ashamed, ashamed of who I was and who I am. You always said that I had to find that perfect man, and that I would not (or any woman) would not be able to function, would not be complete, would not be able to stand alone in this world without one. He had to be “Mr. Ken Doll” in your eyes; good looking, well mannered, educated and Catholic. Nothing less would do. Imagine how I felt when I realized that I could not meet your expectations. I felt ashamed, lost, scared and alone. Thank god I had good friends to help me through my coming to terms with my sexuality – at least as much as I could (I guess I am still doing this and if I had to guess, much of this is because of you.) Imagine how it had an impact on our relationship. I felt like I could never share this with you – this huge part of my life. I felt you would never accept it. I thought I would make you ill with worry so I never told you. Instead I hid an enormous part of myself from you. I hid my relationships, I hid my happiness with them and I hid my sadness when things went wrong. You lost half of my life because I could not share with you my fears and my joys. Because of this we never shared many moments of joy, regret, sadness. You were not there to support me when I most needed it. I think it is a shame, it is very sad, so much was lost.

I am less...

I am less afraid of death now knowing that you have already been through it. Maybe my own death will bring me to the same place you are. My life is simply now comprised of waiting to die.

I am moving...

I am moving beyond my grief (at last) and my focus has shifted away from the past and to the future. Not that I have forgotten you, but the pain is gone and has been replaced by memories, and the recognition that your legacy lives on in our kids and in my life.

I'm glad you're...

I’m glad you’re dead.

I returned from a family vacation to an email from my estranged brother. “I have sad news” it started solemnly. You, my iconic stepmother, had died in your sleep, recently after you had started taking heart medication. I quickly formulated a theory – what happens to someone who takes medication for an organ they do not have?

I called my brother and worked hard to excise the glee from my voice. I felt shackles loosen, years of abuse and restraint lift and I felt peaceful, and happy. I spoke with my brother while gesticulating with joy to my husband that you were finally gone. It was and is very simple: I am glad you are dead.

After our conversation, I got ready and left for work. I wanted to do something to celebrate, like jump in the pool, race golf carts or at least smash some balls around -- tennis or golf -- I wasn’t particular. I was free.

Several months later I saw my brother for the first time in 10 years. I mentioned my theory about heart medication killing someone without one and he, as always competitive, said, “I can do you one better.”

My husband asked, “Does it come from the Wizard of Oz?”

“Ding dong, the witch is dead, the wicked witch, the witch is dead.”

In fact, I had heard the same music in my mind playing when i read the “sad” news.

I hope you’re dancing in your grave.

I've had a...

I've had a great year! And I intend on having great years each and every year for the rest of my life as I know it, just as I admire each of you for doing. Afterwards, if I have the chance, I'll make the most of whatever there is and would be thrilled to get together if that's at all remotely possible. Just in case, happy New Year to all of you!

When I first...

When I first saw you, I tried to communicate with you in my own way, even though I knew that you would most probably not understand me. So here is my second chance. I want to convey to you that I understand what it is to feel abused, helpless, and fearful of human beings. You deserved freedom and joy, not death, but at least death has left you free of the unaddressed fundamental injustices that continue among the living.

I hope you...

I hope you are happy and healthy where you are. Thank you for being who you were and forgive me for not being the best person all the time to you. Next time we meet, I promise to be better. I miss you very much.

In the imposed...

In the imposed chaos of everyday life, I wonder how many of your loved ones have braved the deepest territories of grief. I resent the ones who say they have moved on. I don’t believe them, but I don’t know how to help them.

I lost the...

I lost the bracelet you made me for my birthday. I'm sorry. I miss you and I miss my bracelet.

For months now...

For months now, I have been asking myself why did you have to die. Why? Why? Why? I couldn’t come up with any answers that satisfied me. This afternoon as I was walking down the street admiring the setting sun, I wondered whether it would be sunny, cloudy, cold, or warm tomorrow. It occurred to me then that I live with uncertainty all the time in daily life. I will never know why you were taken away from us, and I am only beginning to understand that not knowing is just a part of life. Not every “Why?” can be answered. It’s just so unfortunate that you had to die for me to figure this out.

I don't know...

I don’t know if you ever discovered that I had betrayed you. In any case, I am sorry. I was younger then, and I didn’t love myself enough to think that you or anyone else could love me. I was immature. I thought only of myself. Your picture hangs on my wall as a shrine to my love for you and as a reminder to never betray someone I love again.

I lost you...

I lost you twice. The first time I thought that was it. You had disappeared for such a long time that we assumed the worst. I was young, confused, and finally resigned to the fact that I would live without you. I saw mother’s profound sadness, and I decided to live my pain in silence without asking too many questions. Moreover, the subject of you was taboo, evocative of a sad part of our life that each of us was trying to forget or from which we were attempting to alleviate the pain.

The second time, I didn’t believe it. How could life be so cruel? You had survived such hardship. We had only just begun to catch up. I was terribly shy to find myself with a father I didn’t know, and you overtaken by life itself with its daily household problems, divorce, and us, two young adolescents. Your death, the real one, was more brutal for me this time.

In both cases, casual goodbyes, inconsequential goodbyes filled with the promise of seeing each other once again. Never farewell.

I would have loved so much to have known you better, and through me you might have seen a bit of yourself. I think of you sometimes and of what could have been, but not too often. It’s pointless.

I am still a little incensed by everything that has happened, but I imagine that it will all pass one day. I just wanted to let you know.

Often, I wish...

Often, I wish I were dead like you. Life is a mess. No one I know is happy. Everyone I know is trying to be happy. I feel not only the loss of you, but also that of hope for a better life. In the darkness of my world, you were the only light.

I dial your...

I dial your number repeatedly and reflexively, always stopping short of the last digit. Although I know you cannot physically answer, I always wonder how the conversation would unfold if you could. "Hi sweetie, it's good to hear from you..." You were always so happy to hear my voice, always ready to hear my concerns. Should I have realized sooner that something was wrong when you stopped sharing your own concerns? In the past, my timid attempts to ask about your health were always met by quick words of reassurance. Maybe if I had been more forceful, more inquisitive, I could have intervened.

Would I have had the strength to ask you all of the questions I was afraid to ask when you were alive? What aspect of your disease troubled you the most? Were you tired of living? Why could you not tell anyone that you had made up your mind?

The last thing you said to me was that you were afraid. Why did you choose to die if you were so frightened?

I fear and do not understand my own mortality. What you did, was brave.

I remember waiting...

I remember waiting for you to come back from work, to take me to the park, or to baseball games, for long walks and ice cream, or to the movies....

As the years went by, I felt that you were fading away from the family. You always wanted to be alone, watching television in a closed room.

You were smiling, laughing and talking with people outside of our home, but as soon as you came back to the house, you would shut down again.

What happened to those happy earlier days? Did you really love us?

I can barely...

I can barely take care of myself, and I don't know what to do. I am considering seeing a therapist. I feel so broken without you.

I don't know...

I don't know where you are, but when I see birds flying in the sky, I sometimes think that one of them is you, with a set of new friends and family, but still watching over me from above. Sometimes I even wave to a bird if I sense it is you.

It is amazing...

It is amazing that 25 years have gone by and that I have managed to do quite well with my life, even without you to watch over me. I am sorry that you did not get to meet my husband, who is the nicest, sweetest, most wonderful guy in the world. You would have liked him. I am sorry also that instead of kidding with you all the time the way we did, I did not get to tell you face to face how much I loved you and how much I admired you. And that is still with me, in my heart, to this day. Please continue to watch over me from your vantage point, and be assured that I love you, even after 25 years of you being in heaven.